


Wind Chill Factor

by asokonoko



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Avengers in a Mini-Van, Coulson has a Warning Pen and isn't afraid to use it, Crack, Fluff, Gen, Humor, M/M, Plot will come a-creeping eventually, Pre-Slash, Ski Trip!, Tony fails at self-preservation engineering
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-14
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-11 20:42:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/803083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asokonoko/pseuds/asokonoko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If asked, Tony would say that he only agreed to go on vacation because he was suffering from heat stroke. And anyway, it wasn't like he could have known that he would be sent to a SHIELD Ski Resort in a mini-van with six other superheroes and a certain ever-unruffled Agent. Between learning to ski, tranquilizer dart stationary and a ridiculously adorable Super Soldier, the holiday looks to be one that's not going to be forgotten any time soon. As with anything in Tony's life, chaos ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wind Chill Factor

“You’ve got to be kidding me. JARVIS, the sun better not be going supernova.” Tony Stark slumped forward and groaned into the kitchen table. “There will be no world saving in this heat. I refuse.”

It was a ridiculously hot day, and to say that Tony was not coping well was a laughable understatement.

Perhaps JARVIS had been right in saying that updating the power supply was an ill-advised decision at this point in the development of the new cooling system. But there was no going back now, as the AI continually saw fit remind him.

Consequences be damned. Tony twitched into the countertop.

Attempting (key word, there) to fix the mechanisms hadn’t gone so well. The spanner he was battling with became so slick with grease and palm sweat it kept sliding out of his grip. When the wrench leapt out of Tony’s hands like an overenthusiastic fish and thwacked him in the skull, he had admitted defeat.  
It was just insult to injury that the system flaws remained unscathed when Tony emerged with a splitting headache.

So, sitting in the kitchen, Tony gave himself some leeway to hiss curses as he probed his forehead and bemoaned the heat.

He was Tony Stark, and if he couldn’t get himself out of a mess, you can sure as hell expect him to complain about it.

With a sigh, Tony chartered up a ‘Do or Die List’ in his head. It blazed a passive-aggressive blue on the back of his eyelids.

1\. Order specialized connector units from Pepper-oughta-know-where  
2\. Strip away the shoddy craftsmanship and melt down alloy  
3\. Recast in Stark-standard mold  
4\. Refit entire building with new circuitry  
5\. Beat head repeatedly against nearest wall

The problem with being the only man capable of creating such state-of-the-art engineering was that you couldn’t just hire an electrician to fix the glitches.

Ah, fuck that.

Facedown on the table, he tried to distract himself by pretending that he didn’t necessarily need a cup of coffee to function. That being said, he felt justified in wanting to swap out the caffeine hit for something stronger.

The sudden image of ice clinking ruthlessly in a tumbler seized him, and his fingers involuntarily twitched around the imaginary glass.

JARVIS interrupted Tony’s alcoholic stupor in cool, clipped tones at odds with the blistering heat. “Sir, might I suggest you return to correcting the control panels instead of whining?”

Clint chose this moment to enter the kitchen, and snapped a retort before Tony had a chance to. “But being a mopey twat is how Tony warms up his prodigious intellect, isn’t it?” Clint’s mock-serious tone was mirrored by widened blue eyes. He looked about as unassuming as a heavily armed milkmaid.

Tony lifted his head enough to squint at him as the fridge slid open, releasing a blast of cold that almost hissed when it met the air. Clint maintained the innocent expression as he chugged half of the apple juice straight out of the bottle. Tony had respect for Clint’s commitment to the fine craft of acting.

“Or is ‘genius’ just an excuse to whinge all the time?” he asked, smacking his lips and leaning back into the cool air of the still opened refrigerator.

“It’s too hot to be overcome with murderous rage today, Barton,” muttered Tony, face down on the table once more. “Do us a favour and go bake yourself in the currently useless air conditioning vents please. Too tired to wring you neck.”

Steve wandered into the kitchen, eyebrows folding into each other as he processed Tony’s comment.

Tony acknowledged him with a smirk, dragging himself upright and trying to appear nonchalant. He could tell the good Captain was trying to figure out whether to pull him up about the fact he was plotting the death of his comrade or his shameful laziness. Steve apparently became overwhelmed with the equally valid issues, and instead turned to Clint.

“You’ve been in the air vents?”

Ah, so that’s how it was. Tony couldn’t help but feel a little put out by blatant favoritism. If you could call a good scolding favoritism (and really, Tony took what he could get).

Clint blinked for a moment, before leaning forward with a wicked grin.

“I practically live in the air vents, Cap.” He paused to waggle his eyebrows suggestively. “They’re the best vantage point to watch you when you’re sleeping. You’re so cute when you mumble about-”

Steve made an interesting choking noise and nudged Clint with an elbow as he reached past him for a carton of grape juice. If Tony didn’t know better, he’d say Steve was blushing.

Now he was feeling more than a bit left out. His mood took a nosedive as Clint flopped into a chair next to Tony at the table.

“That is just plain rude, you guys. Personal jokes and all that.” He clutched his heart, and even then gave a start at the sensation of arc reactor beneath his fingers. “And you,” he accused in Clint’s direction. “You know Steve-baiting is my favorite sport. To leave me out of this… Criminal!”

“Oi! I’m not the villain here! It’s Steve who doesn’t seem to want you knowing that he regularly dreams about—”

“Okaaay!! I think that’s enough of that for now,” yelped Steve in a tone that was closer to panic than anything Tony had heard on the battlefield.

Interesting, that.

His eyes were still darting everywhere but Tony when he firmly stated “It sure is hot in here” as a means to change the subject.

Clint snorted, and muttered something along the lines of, “Nope, that’s just you, Cap”, when Bruce entered the room.

He looked about as bad as Tony felt, with a sheen of sweat sending light glancing off his forehead and enough tension in his posture to keep a bridge suspended. He strode over the fridge and slammed the door shut, turning suddenly to scowl at Clint and Tony at the table. The two of them stared back, Clint’s fingers twitching towards one of the various weapons concealed on his person.

“I need… To get out of this place,” said Bruce. His tone was measured and matter of fact, but there was a flash of something in his eyes that no one felt the need to contradict.

Steve cleared his throat, suddenly the image of controlled calm. He strode out of the room saying something about how he would “talk to Fury about just that, so can everyone just stay calm, and I’m looking at you Tony”, but Tony was too busy rotating schematics for the new cooling system through his head.

Great, self-preservation engineering. That was a source of motivation to be proud of.

Bruce all but lunged towards the bread sitting on the bench, and savagely jammed two pieces into the toaster as Tony and Clint slowly began to disentangle their nerves.

As strange as it was for Banner’s temper the fray in such a threatening way, it was more unusual for the two of them to be silent for more than a few seconds.

Tony shook his head. The inflated temperature was doing terrible, terrible things to his multitasking capabilities. His brain was not supplying the usual quips to diffuse the situation.

Suddenly, Tony wanted to be out of the kitchen more than he feared the furnace that his workshop would have undoubtedly turned into without JARVIS’ cooling touch.

“Okay, well as much as I’d love to stay and chat with such scintillating company, I better be getting back to work.” His chair screeched as he stood up too quickly, and everyone flinched at the sound it made. Tony wasn’t sure if he was sweating because of the blasted heat or the tension in the room.

“Don’t have too much fun without me”, he called as he skittered down a flight of stairs, not wanting to wait for the lift.

Maybe getting out of this place wasn’t such a bad idea.

 

Tony’s mind was changed before they were out of the city.

Honestly, who put a dysfunction group of superheroes in a minivan? SHEILD obviously hadn’t budgeted for impromptu Avenger road trips, and probably stole some junior agent’s surveillance vehicle.

There were no plush seats or tinted windows, and definitely, tragically, no minibar.

Tony could handle that the only channel that they could get on the radio was 60’s swing, but the lack of alcohol was a crushing blow. Only the fact that, unlike his Tower, the van had functional air conditioning kept him for flinging open the sliding door and just ending it all. But perhaps becoming road kill was, well, overkill.

Now, that came uncomfortably close to being a pun.

Someone needs a drink.

Tony silently cursed as he lent his forehead against the juddering window and vowed to set aside a small fund for an Avengers limo, or something equally classy and spacious. No way was this school field trip transport going to cut it for further excursions.

But then again, Tony didn’t really want there to be any further excursions, anyhow.

Thor’s voice boomed as he began yet another traditional Asgardian ballad. This one was something his heroism in battle against a formidable foe, though the opposing side was a slur of language that Tony didn’t even try to comprehend. It could have been anything, though, considering Thor’s earnest declaration of war when there was that ant infestation that demigod had taken on himself to eradicate.

Tony imagined that Thor’s rendition of ‘Ode to the Tiny Invaders’ would be every bit as stirring as whatever he was singing about now.

Everyone blamed Clint for the wall of sound (except for Natasha, who was surprising everyone by joining in with the occasional harmony) as it was he who suggested that they sing a rousing rendition of ‘99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall’ to pass the time (apparently, the tragic lack of literal beer was no obstacle, to ‘music’, or whatever Clint called his singing voice)

Thor had taken that to mean other songs were on the agenda, and he was taking great liberties to introduce the deprived Midguardians some of the anthems of his homeland. Now Clint was beginning to return the favor, starting with “God Save the Queen”, but with a couple of choice word changes.

Tony was torn between getting his suitcase suit and flying above the convoy away from this infernal racket or filming the whole thing on his StarkPhone. He settled for the latter, twisting around and coming face to face with a pained looking Steve, who was occupying the seat behind him.

“What's the matter, Cap? Not even your national anthem that they’re mutilating.”

Steve shifted and looked up at Tony, who adjusted himself so his elbows were tossed over the seat and he was well and truly in the good Captain’s personal bubble. He squinted at his phone, and began the recording of the treasonous spectacle. The poor Queen in mention would probably have a heart attack if she heard what Clint really though of her.

His attention was brought back to Steve when he replied, “I used to get motion sick...” His blue eyes flashed towards Tony’s mildly horrified expression, before stumbling on with a rushed explanation. “I mean, I don’t get it anymore, the serum cleared that sort of thing right up. It’s just… Yeah, never really liked enclosed spaces like this, you know. The rocking…”

And he did look uncomfortable, his broad form squashed into the narrow seats. It almost seemed as though he was trying to collapse in on himself, becoming as compact as possible. Tony suddenly realized how claustrophobic his proximity to Steve must seem right now, and made a lurching motion to move back.

“I’m not going to throw up on you,” Steve said, his jaw setting. He lent forward to counter Tony’s movement, and Tony was suddenly acutely aware of how nice Steve smelled. He stilled abruptly, and was surprised by his disappointment when Steve did too.

Hmm, perhaps best not to think to hard about that little piece of information. As he always did when trying to force something out of his mind, Tony pulled a plan for his newest project into his frame of awareness.

There we are. Images and schematics and the comforting memory of oil slicked metal beneath fingers filled all of the places in his mind where unacknowledged thoughts often lurked.

“I can’t risk it,” he said matter of factly, pleased to note that any non-platonic observations were successfully being leeched form his consciousness. “Good looks are an integral part of my charisma. If I weren’t so damn cute, the Board of Directors wouldn’t let me anywhere near the business plans. And Pepper would write me out of the will and take custody of the bots.” He mock pouted, waving the StarkPhone for dramatic effect. “Tony Stark without any sex appeal? What would my life be like?”

By now, the video had become a bit of a disaster, but the shaky camera angles were worth it for catching the moment when Captain America began to blush. He stopped the recording, and slipped the phone back into his pocket, perversely enjoying the silence and Steve’s dropped jaw.

“You’d probably be a lot less of nuisance,” interjected Coulson, who was neatly folded around a newspaper and a gun in the front passenger seat. He leant back imperceptibly, taking in the scene. Both Tony and Steve turned at him for a few seconds, and Tony marveled at the man’s ability to silently and subtly document everything at once. Coulson was a true triple threat, and Tony was pretty sure that the agent would do well enough in show biz as well.

“You, sir, have ears like a bat. Do you drink blood like one too?” said Tony, deadpanning.

Coulson just smiled in that tight way of his, as though even an expression of mirth had to be controlled, or else someone, somewhere, would be forced to write a report about it. But in saying that, Coulson showing emotion was rare enough that it probably did warrant paperwork.

“Only of inconsiderate Avengers”, he replied, before his attention was furiously sideswiped by Hawkeye. “Put on your seatbelt. And is a crossbow of that size really necessary for a ski trip?”

While Coulson swiftly and efficiently deconstructed Clint’s antics, Tony felt his spirits sink.

Ah. Yes, a ski trip. To the mountains. In the middle of nowhere.

Why? Because it was too hot in New York, and apparently, Fury has a sense of humor.

While Tony agreed that an escape from Stark Tower was necessary, both from a technological standpoint and so that it and everyone’s moods had a chance to cool, he didn’t think that shoving everyone in a van was a good idea.

But perhaps that was just because he hadn’t thought of it himself. Looking around the cramped compartment, it seemed as though only he and Steve were being misery buddies about the whole endeavor, which was exactly 50% surprising. Tony was always a cloud of darkness that occasionally lanced lightning-like snark towards anyone who looked like they were having too much fun, so no one paid him much attention. However, as Steve was usually all for team bonding activities and anything that seemed vaguely patriotic, it was unsurprising that Bruce tapped him on the shoulder to check the state of his mental health.

It was true that he’d gone from a steady pinkish to grey in a matter of seconds, and as Tony reemerged from his self-pitying fugue and locked onto Steve’s blue eyes, he looked even more strangled. His expression stuttered it’s way through what looked like several very conflicting emotions before he even processed Bruce’s hand on his arm.

Tony found the whole situation quietly amusing, and watched intently, noting how the Captain’s ears began to redden beneath his gaze. It was oddly endearing, when he thought about it.

Which he wasn’t. Most certainly not. He was thinking about the pressure systems in the new air conditioning unit he would be installing as soon as they returned from this infernal outing. Just levers, gears and sublimation, and a perfectly unassuming observation of the colour of Steve’s ear.

Bruce smiled in that solid, present way of his. He had calmed down exponentially since he had stalked out of Stark Tower and nearly torn the rickety van door of its hinges in his effort of get the road trip on it’s way. Coulson called it ‘enthusiasm’, and nobody disputed it, because between Bruce and Coulson, a very painful death could be easily arranged.

So they had all skipped, crept or been dragged into the minivan, and watched as the tension dripped out of Bruce’s muscles as though it had been frozen solid within his joints.

Now he was perfectly amiable, with that half curve of a smile and hands that crept lightly around each other.

“Are you with us, Steve?” he asked, patient and concerned.

Almost imperceptibly, Steve straightened in his seat and pasted on an expression that looked more suited to one of his many action figures. Tony was struck by the juxtaposition of the two of them.

First there was Bruce, who personified inner demons when the mood took him, being the good sort.

Bruce managed take the analytical observations of a scientist and translate them into a phrase that disarmed and quelled. Compared to Tony, who used his ability to scrutinize to for evil (according to Pepper, and she was always right), Bruce’s ability to lighten the moods of those around him was almost hypnotic.

But it did make Tony wonder how many times those unassuming tones were spoken internally to beat back a beast. Practice did make perfect, and Bruce was a zen master.

Then there was Steve, who had managed to build a wall in a moment.

It was something that Tony had seen repeated over and over, and in the most puzzling array of circumstances. It was the face that Steve wore when he became a solider, as much a part of the uniform as the stars and stripes and shield were.

While that was perfectly reasonable on the battlefield, it made Tony uncomfortable when it appeared in everyday life.

Whether he was struggling with an obscure 80’s reference, or receiving comfort from a friend, when Steve felt that the expressions usually painted so clearly on his face couldn’t be shown, his Captain mask appeared.

And causing Steve, who was so inherently good, to feel he had to hide himself would be worse than seeing the damage play out on his face.

“Oh. Yeah, yes. I’m fine. Just thinking about Vampire Coulson…” Steve’s voice was slightly absent, contrasting with his solid expression, and he shook his head. Bruce withdrew his hand lightly, leaning back into his own space as though to give Steve some more air.

Tony considered doing the same, but the smell of Steve’s shampoo outweighed any other arguments that sprung to mind.

God. That’s an embargoed thought pattern right there.

For perhaps the millionth time, Tony wished he were able to delete some of the fractured code that made up his brain. Sure, his IQ would drop by a point or one hundred, but it would be worth it to rid himself of silly, unrequited thoughts.

Bruce’s eyes flicked up towards Tony, and a knowing, quietly amused expression washed over his features. Then his attention was thankfully turned towards Clint, who had left the warbling to Natasha and Thor (who were surprisingly doing various My Fair Lady classics some justice) to join in on the conversation.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure he sparkles in the sun light too!” he crowed, leaning forward from the back seat of the van which he had been occupying like an obnoxious teenager. Tony sniggered, and Steve looked thoroughly confused, his eyebrows almost meeting as he firstly attempted to place the reference, then tried imagining a luminous Coulson.

The man in question didn’t even bother looking up from his paper, and lobbed a shiny black pen with such fluid precision that it actually managed to hit Clint squarely between they eyes before anyone realized he had moved. Everybody froze for a moment as Clint snatched the offending writing utensil out of the air, and read the inscription.

“’Hawkeye Warning Pen’… Hey, I get my own pen! Does this mean that people spend so much time filling out my paperwork that it needs customized stationary?" Clint seemed somewhat pleased by the revelation that he was even more of an administrative nightmare than originally thought.

“How many of these did you have made?” asked Natasha, who had stopped singing, “and how do I get my hands on them?”

Tony didn’t want to think about the ways she would modify them if she had the chance to regularly hurl them at Clint. Maybe it wasn’t just the air conditioning system that needed updating, but security too…

Man, self-preservation engineering was really making a comeback.

“A shipment came through on Sunday,” replied Coulson, not looking up. “But I have to distribute them amongst staff first.” His mouth quirked infinitesimally upwards. “I wonder how many of the junior agents will find the tranquilizer dart compartment.”

Clint looked simultaneously awed and nervous that so much effort had gone into his ‘Warning Pen’.

He clicked the end conspiratorially, trying to work out the mechanism. A pale blue syringe burst out of the end and shot past Tony’s left ear, embedding quite deeply into the upholstery next to his head. He turned to stare at it for a few seconds, before swooping around and narrowing his eyes at Clint.

“That was close,” breathed Steve, as the dart had cut mighty close to his nose. Clint looked back at them both with an expression of wide eyed amusement, before his face rearranged itself into something more devious.

“Did I nearly drug Captain America?” he asked, marveling at the pen, and then up at Coulson. “Can I have another one? That was fun!”

“No.” Coulson had heard it all before.

“Oh come on, don’t be like that. You don’t want me to be so irritating I need another ‘Hawkeye Warning Pen’ thrown at me do you.” He leered at Bruce over the seat to add weight to his threat, but Coulson merely raised an eyebrow.

“If you need another warning, there will be no pen. Just a tranquilizer to the neck and a nice, quiet car ride. And don’t think that I’ll comfort you when you wake up with the shakes and a nightmare of a sore throat.”

Clint mock pouted at that, before examining the pen more closely.

“Oi, Tony, do you thing you could make up some arrows with this sort of propulsion technology? There’s a lot of power packed into this thing, and I reckon it’d be pretty useful.”

Tony plucked out the dart, and examined it. It was about the length of his thumbnail, and almost imperceptibly narrow. The point glinted maliciously as it oozed a rather potent looking aqueous substance. As much as he thought that combining that concoction with Clint’s aim and twisted sense of humor was a terrible idea, he couldn’t help but appreciate the engineering.

Again, Coulson was one-upping them all. Tony was going to have to do something about that.

Unfortunately, while Tony was distracted by the slight projectile, he failed to notice Clint playfully, quietly take aim and click with a malicious grin on his face.

Tony looked down at where the dart struck his shoulder, and back at Clint, who mouthed “Oops”, with a sly smile. Returning his line of sight to the tranquilizer, he only had time register that he was falling further into Steve’s personal space than he though was decent, before the drug sung through his veins and seized his consciousness.

 

When Tony awoke, he could only blearily concur that Coulson was right about the murderous sore throat. He was arranged uncomfortably over the minivan seats, and it seemed as though someone had draped his blazer jacket over him at some point.

Tony would kill them all if there was anything drawn on his face.

He struggled into an upright position, the muscles in his shoulders juddering against the movement.

Ah, those must be ‘the shakes’. Excellent.

The inside of the van was blurry and dark, and Tony wasn’t sure if it was because his brain was still trying to shrug off the after effects of a tranquilizer, or if the sun had set. He let out a shaky breath, allowing his head loll forward on shivering hinges. Judging by the constant light spilling out from the arc reactor as it shone through his t-shirt, the shadows were not being produced by his weary imagination.

If that was the case, then they’d been on the road for about 6 hours, and he had been unconscious for 5 hours and 30 minutes of it.

Despite the pain, Tony didn’t think this was too much of a loss.

When his muscles had finished putting him through a particularly violent round of spasms (what the hell did Coulson put in that dart?), he craned his neck around the van compartment. It was completely silent, and Tony wondered if that was because Thor’s voice box had finally given out, or if Coulson had seen if fit to use a ‘Hawkeye Warning Pen’ on everyone else. But as he took in the scene, he realized it was a lot more peaceful than that.

The world’s mightiest heroes were all asleep.

Oh god, that was gag-worthy. Tony was glad he had been out cold for what must have been the most agonizingly boring road trip ever. He would have never nodded off on any of the other cross-country expeditions he’d been on. But then, those had involved more decent music and fewer semi-poisonous darts, so who knew.

Steve had his cheek resting on the top of Tony’s seat, his mouth slightly agape. Tony couldn’t help be just observe for a moment, appreciating the unexpected sight.

Not only was Steve’s mouth open, but his entire face. There was a slight crinkle in his forehead, a mild irritation perhaps. None of the solid weight that sat in his face during his waking hours could be seen in his sleeping features.

Steve’s hand was draped over the seat front, and Tony could feel the warmth of his fingers through his T-shirt where fingers grazed his shoulder.

And because it was dark and quiet, Tony allowed himself to feel comfortable.

In the back row of the van, Thor, Clint and Natasha were all tangled up. Clint was splayed across all three of the seats, his head resting against Natasha’s slumped form. She was leaned up against the window frame, one hand bracing her chin, and the other curled protectively around Clint’s torso.

While it certainly looked affectionate, Tony expected she could also easily strangle Clint if he tried anything while she was sleeping. If nothing else, Natasha was always prepared.

In fact, it meant a lot that she had allowed herself to nod off at all.

Tony only distinguished that Thor was asleep because his chin was tucked further into his chest than his pride would ever have allowed in consciousness. Furthermore, he was mumbling incoherently, his hand twitching on Clint’s calf as though it were a substitute for Mjölnir.

Bruce seemed to be, as always, the most in control. Tony observed a pillow propped up against the window with no small amount of jealousy. But then his eyes settled on Bruce’s clenched hand and clamped jaw, and decided it would be better not to filch it from under his nose. Not only would Banner know it was him, but he would extract meticulous scientific revenge, all with a pleasant smile on his face.

Tony had seen enough of Bruce’s research to be far more afraid of his intellectual capacity than any of his more destructive abilities.

Tony continued to survey ‘the earth’s mightiest heroes’, musing about how it was typical that everyone was seemed cute and vulnerable when they were sleeping, while he was probably rather slobbery. A small part of him was a little put out that he couldn’t be a part of the peacefulness of it all.

As always, he was awake when the rest of the world had put their troubles and bodies to bed.

“They’ve been like that since Glens Falls.”

It was a soft voice, but enough to send Tony lurching out of his thoughts. He swung violently around in his chair, before his joints heaved and hummed at the sudden movement.

Coulson’s eyes shone out of the darkness, with the rest of his figure slowly fading into distinction.

“You didn’t stop for ice-cream without me, did you? You know how I feel about missing out on some Orange-Choc Chip goodness.”

“We did try to wake you,” said Coulson thoughtfully. “But then, you were drooling and Steve didn’t take well to Barton prodding you.”

His eyes glinted. “The tranquilizer is more effective than I had thought. Anything to report.”

Tony just looked at him, eyebrows setting.

“Well, I feel just preachy. Could do with some caffeine. Or a drink.” He groaned at the thought of a glass of whiskey.

Coulson made a noise that Tony suspected what the closest he would ever get to a chuckle. “I’m almost surprised that you are awake, considering the strength of the treatment. But I guess you’ve built up a resistance to most chemicals over the years.”

He said it in an offhand manner, but Tony knew Coulson well enough to realize that every implication was intentional.

“You know it! Actually, how do you know that? Has Pepper been ignoring the ‘lets-not-tell-SHIELD-Tony’s-bad-habits’ clause in her contract again? She has, hasn’t she? We’ll be having talks if I make it back alive.”

The minivan suddenly pitched on an incline, and Tony almost slid off the seat. Gravel beneath the wheels made the minivan shudder almost as much as his nerves.

Damn Coulson and his damn warning pen. Tony knew exactly where he wanted Coulson to shove that particular invention.

The motion caused stirring around the cabin. Steve’s hands briefly gripped at Tony’s shirt, before blue eyes blinked open. Tony managed half a smile from where he was slumped. In an unguarded expression, Steve grinned blearily back.

As per usual, Clint ruined the moment.

“Are we there yet?”

Everyone groaned, except for Thor, who just nodded sagely.

“Aye, it appears the altitude belies our destination, little archer.”

Natasha sniggered at this, her hands encircling Clint’s shoulders as he kicked and flailed in mock protest at being dubbed ‘little’.

“Hey now, I’ll have you know that I am very well endowed! Ask anyone!”

Tony shrugged nonchalantly, Natasha smiled suggestively and Bruce nodded with a vehement sincerity that made Tony think he’d likely been threatened at some point. It was only Steve and Coulson who stayed still and quiet. Coulson’s eyes slid over Clint and his shining grin, and the good Captain just blushed.

Tony was too distracted by the increasingly bumpy road to relish in Steve’s discomfort.

“I get the feeling you’re taking us somewhere where they’ll never be able to find the bodies”, he shot at Coulson, who didn’t even bother to look away from Clint.

“A back up plan was in place on the off chance you didn’t wake up from that dose of tranquilizer, yes,” was the reply. Tony allowed his face to curl into something rather offended, and Steve just stared at the suited man in abject horror.

Ever the diplomat, Bruce took it into his own hands to change the subject.

“How about that view…”

Tony looked past Bruce out the window. It was true, the twilight gave the scene of mountains and caverns a dream like quality. Faded light hit the curves and dips of the landscape in unexpected places, drifting over cloud as they rose to altitudes higher still. It was the perfect juxtaposition of sky and earth, melded by the softness of the starlight.

The whole scene made Tony want to build something quite desperately. Perhaps that was inspiration.

As the van continued spiraling up the mountain, Clint chattered away quietly, but because he was firmly tucked in place in Natasha’s semi-loving hold, he remained still. Everyone else watched as the snow made the world seem less solid. It was as though they were fading away from reality completely, and on the faces of the people around him, Tony saw relief.

As they pulled in front of a stately ski lodge and the engine cut, Tony realized that he had not felt the need to guard his expression at all.

He shook off the sense of being half-asleep and the remainder of the drugs, and pulled open the van’s sliding door.

Everyone blinked at the influx of metallic smelling air so cold Tony actually fondly remembered the temperature of the Tower only a few hours ago. Then Clint swung over the top of him and landed with a wet sounding crunch on the snowy ground.

He stood with his hands on his hips for a moment, taking in the great wooden beams and glass surfaces, before suddenly cackling.

“Shotgun top bunk!”

Natasha gracefully stepped out of vehicle and stood next to him, her stillness contrasting with Clint’s chaotic movement. The two of them were undoubtedly doing a preliminary sweep of the locale, both analyzing from different perspectives and trusting each other completely. Tony watched on, feeling a twang of something when he considered how much they were really two halves of an illusive whole.

The rest of them followed Coulson out as he sure-footedly walked up to the complex and pushed open a pair of solid wooden doors. It was lit from the inside, the warm colouring making it significantly more appealing than the alpine air. Tony stretched upwards, feeling the shuddering tightness in his limbs finally dissipate. After several hours in that unholy van, the almost crystalline wind licking at his hair was just the purge he needed.

Then the chill and the sensation that he’d spent way too long without taking crept in, and he trotted after everyone else.

Steve was looking wide-eyed around the foyer, the artist in him trying to pick up the minute details.

It was a triumph of architecture (though Tony still thought his tower was better), with wooden panelling stretching upwards to meet with glass ceilings. The stars were the main attraction, framed only by the yellow light that rose up from the floor.

The overall effect was simultaneously cosy and classy. Tony felt like he had stepped out of one alien landscape and into another.

Coulson and Bruce were having a conversation with a pretty girl who sat behind a large desk. She had the smile of every good receptionist, and hair a slightly lighter shade than the mahogany staining that tied the room together.

Tony wandered up to the group with his hands in his pockets.

“So what’s the deal with room service here,” he interrupted as obnoxiously as possible. Coulson’s expression didn’t flicker, but the girl, Sophie, according to the name badge, smiled at him politely.

“Breakfast runs from 7 in the morning, and dinner finishes at midnight, sir. Each room’s minibar is also refreshed at 11am daily, if required, Mr Stark.”

Tony noted the use of his name at the end of the rather specific explanation, though he doubted he’d been introduced (Coulson probably wanted to erase him from existence. Tony was half surprised he hadn’t been dumped on the side of the road in a sack when Clint jabbed him with that dart). This meant he could probably push his luck.

Tony lent forward over the counter and adjusted his face into an easy smirk. “What if I need service after midnight?” His voice took on it’s best, ‘I’m a bad boy billionaire, what are you going to do about it?’ tone and he dropped a wink.

Her expression wrinkled for a split second, before she opened her mouth to respond, a professional smile firmly in place. Coulson chose that moment to cut in.

“Well that would be unfortunate for us, since we’re rooming together.”

Bruce covered his mouth with his hand, stifling a smile at Tony’s flabbergasted expression.

“No, no, no, no, hold up for a second there.” Tony lifted up his hand like he would like nothing better than to blast Coulson with a repulser beam. “I will not be bunk buddies with you. Not even if you promise to tell me state secrets and who you have a crush on AND give me the red ribbon when we braid each other’s hair.”

Coulson kept such a straight face that Tony wondered for a second if he was taking the wind up seriously.

“No, Stark,” said Coulson, a rather chilling smile spreading across his face. “We will ALL be rooming together.” He gestured around the room, where Natasha was surveying from the corner, and Steve and Thor were laughing at Clint’s creative shadow puppetry. “And I always get the red ribbon.”

Before Tony could chance to respond, Coulson waved everyone through. Sophie winked at Tony as he struggled to form words. He just looked at her sideways, the sarcasm in her expression further contradicting all things ‘good’ and ‘right’ in the Universe, and trailed along after the team.

The corridor widened into something more solid, with a peaked wooden roof reminiscent of traditional lodges. However, the sleek edges and subtly integrated curves in the architecture meant that Steve was almost walking into the walls in an attempt to absorb all the detail. Tony intercepted him as he veered off course, face turned to the ceiling. Despite the fact that Tony was all but steering him in a straight line, Steve’s concentration barely flickered. Tony’s hands were still laid flat on Steve’s shoulder blades when Coulson turned into a larger communal area scattered with couches and beanbags. This room again was again softly lit from below, except for disks of brightness from where films were being projected onto the roof.

Nobody paid the Avengers any attention as they tromped past them. A few of the people lounging around were wearing SHEILD uniforms, and someone had a snow jacket on that looked like a suit and tie.

Clint nodded towards it, prodding Coulson on the shoulder as they passed. “Awkward. It’s like someone wore the same dress as you to Prom.”

Without blinking an eye, Coulson pressed on, swiping a card in front of a meter set into the wall. A doorway all but materialised as a panel slid away.

The inside of the room was standard cabin fare, with bunk beds lining the walls and hardwood floors shiny with years of wear. There was indeed a minibar, but as Tony made a beeline towards it, Coulson stepped out in front.

“House rules,” he announced, watching Tony’s fingers twitch towards the whiskey. “Firstly, sleep deprivation is a form of torture, so if anyone talks after midnight, I will be very unimpressed.”

Boring. Not talking meant time for thinking. Tony did not like thinking time, especially at night. He started considering the door mechanism before he could delve to deeply into the reasoning behind that truth. Perhaps he could ‘silently’ dismantle it while Sleeping Beauty ruins the party….

As if Coulson could read minds, he continued on. “Second Rule, if anyone leaves this room with the intention to wreak havoc,” he paused, eyeing up Clint and Thor, “I will personally ensure that you are only fed cornflakes for the duration of this trip.”

Harsh but fair. There was nothing less satisfying than cornflakes. Well, Tony could list a few instances where that had been the case, but Coulson’s Camp Mother routine pulled his focus back to the briefing.

“Finally, because this is a team building exercise as much as anything else, there will be no sneaking off to practice with weapons or drowning your sorrows. We will either be sticking together, or learning to ski.” Everyone groaned, and Coulson managed a resigned expression that suggested he liked Fury’s schemes as much as the rest of them.

“Um, excuse me, boss?” Tony raised his hand and his eyebrow mockingly. “Skiing. Seriously? I feel like I’ve fallen into a made-for-TV movie. And as much as I love family-friendly adventure, I don’t think pushing us down a mountain on a pair of planks is going to give anyone the warm fuzzies I think you’re aiming for.”

Clint threw his arm around Tony’s shoulder. “You’re only saying that coz I bet you don’t know how to ski, Frosty. Too cool for snow school?”

Tony huffed quietly. “You’re going to get yourself into one hell of a snow war if you keep up with that sort of talk.”

“Phil, I think this calls for a warning pen! Someone needs to chill!”

Natasha stretched up from where she was testing the mattress of a bunk bed, all feline grace and malice.

“Indeed. One more bad snow pun, Clint, and a dart to the throat might be exactly what we all need.”

Tony felt the arm around him tighten and shift. He caught a flash of teeth and sighed. The bastard was preparing to use him as a human shield.

“So cold, Tarsh!”

Just like that, the room exploded into action, Natasha using the upper bunk beds to lever herself over everyone’s heads and flip into the empty space behind them. To his credit, Clint managed to duck, dragging both himself and Tony out of the slicing path of Natasha’s legs. Tony staggered with the sudden release, and felt a deceptively soft hand of his shoulder as Natasha landed in front of him. She winked for a second, giving him a push, before turning on Clint. Hawkeye had already recovered, and the two of them dove into something that looked both dangerous and graceful. Although it was just a light-hearted spar, Tony had no doubt that anyone caught in the cross fire would probably die in any number of painful ways.

Now that he was not in any impending danger, he registered that he had connected with someone’s torso. Arms were steadying his shoulders, and blue eyes blinked unassumingly down at him.

That was a pleasant surprise.

Steve was as solid as one would expect, balancing, and Tony could feel a warm heartbeat pulse against his spine.

The rest of the cramped cabin descended into chaos, with Thor’s laughter booming as he heckled the rampaging SHEILD agents and Bruce watching with a half smile from the sanctity of the wooden bunks.

Where Tony would usually be adding to the frenetic atmosphere with verbal assault, he stayed centred. Glancing up at Steve, he registered that it seemed they were having a ‘moment’. But before Tony could feel too smug about the fact that Clint was presently incapacitated and unable to destroy the general pleasantness, Coulson took action.

Somehow, the subtle whoosh of a tranquilliser dart twisting through the air could be heard in the beats of silence between fist falls and dodges, and Clint locked eyes with Coulson as the projectile buried itself in his upper thigh.

Clint’s face morphed into something incredulous for a second. “That was too close for comfor…”

He pitched forward, careering into Tony and Steve’s arrangement. Typical.

Irked that Clint has somehow managed to interfere even in unconsciousness, Tony let him slide to the floor unattended. Steve shook his head indulgently at Tony’s petulant expression, before crouching down and prodding Clint into something resembling the recovery position. Somehow, lying on the hardwood floors, Clint looked more comfortable than Tony had been in the van.

“Did anyone bother to make sure I didn’t choke to death on the wares from Coulson’s cauldron? The wicked witch of the west seems particularly trigger happy today.” He sat down, and stabbed Clint with his finger. Revenge was sweet. “Hey, do you reckon that he’d notice if we swapped out his quiver for some love heart cupid arrows? I’m pretty sure we could find some around here, right? Eh, Coulson, you could fly into town on your broomstick and pick some up for us.”

“Very funny, Stark.” Coulson lent over Clint, and plucked the syringe out of his leg. He looked at it with mild interest, as though he didn’t expect it to actually succeed in taking out one of his best SHIELD agents. Tony found this mildly offensive, as he doubted that Coulson would have any crisis of confidence regarding his concoction’s ability to render him unconscious.

He straightened, his movements stiff. “Unfortunately, I left my pointed hat back at base, and I never take flight without it. And it’s past curfew.” Everyone knew that Coulson took regulations more seriously than his Captain America memorabilia. The man quirked an eyebrow in such a way that Tony could almost taste the bland cardboard taste of cornflake punishment at the back of his throat.

“Alright… So, what now? We sleep? I’d usually be having a coffee break right about now.”

Natasha tossed a blanket off one of the beds, and it landed on Tony’s head. Bruce stifled a yawn.

“I don’t know about you guys, but car rides really take it out of me. Maybe hitting the pit earlier wouldn’t be so bad, especially since we’re going to have an early start in the morning.”

Tony pulled a face. The only thing worse than early bedtimes was early wake up calls.

Steve looked up at this, looking from Thor to the bunk beds. “You know, I think I’ll take a leaf out of Clint’s book and kip on the floor.” Thor nodded at this.

“It appears the Midgardian bedding arrangement is more suited for their tiny bodies than those of Asgard. I shall also join you as a bedfellow.”

That got Tony’s attention. “Hey, hey!” He pulled the blanket into his arms slightly possessively. “If this is going to be a thing, I shotgun prime floor space as well, thank you very much.” It wasn’t going to be a comfort issue, he’d woken up sprawled over his desks and curled around tools on the metallic floors of his workshop.

Bruce looked at them all, and tossed his bedding onto the floor as well and following them all down to ground level. As he arranged himself more comfortably, head directed to the middle of the floor, he laughed. “You guys are taking the sleep over vibe way too seriously.”

Natasha wandered around the outskirts, stripping the beds and lobbing the duvets towards the group. Coulson pinched the top of his nose and sighed dramatically.

“This really wasn’t in the job description.”

Natasha hunkered down next to the passed out Clint, and patted the empty space next to her.

“You can see the stars through the skylight. Just like old times.” Coulson looked at her for a moment, before folding himself stiffly into the spot she provided. Against the mounds of blankets, he looked sharp as ever in his suit. Tony wondered idly if Coulson even needed sleep in the first place.

Tony flopped down between Bruce and Steve, listening to the shuffling, jumbling and occasional elbowing that occurred as the Avengers all vied for an ideal sleeping position. After a few moments, they were all arranged so their heads pointed towards the center of a circle of their own creation.

“So,” Tony couldn’t resist asking, “who’s turning out the light?"

**Author's Note:**

> This one got away from me a bit, but it turns out that vacation with the Avengers is probably more fun for me than it is for them! The next installment should have a bit more in the way of plot, so thank you for bearing with and wading through so much set up. Hope you enjoyed this, I know I sure did.
> 
> Also apologies for any disruptions due to my New Zealand-ish spelling of things. If anything irks you particularly, I can just change it


End file.
